Drabbles of Arda
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: NirCele's 100 Drabble Challenge! These will mostly feature Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond, but I am (nauseatingly) generous - I can add any character from Tolkien that you wish.
1. Sick

_Written for the Middle-earth prompt: Sick_

* * *

Elrond raised his head abruptly as a fit of coughing echoed throughout the hall outside his study. A frown etched itself on his features, and he rose to his feet just as the door swung slowly inwards to reveal Elrohir, framed in the entryway.

His son's hand, trembling on the doorjamb, told him all he needed to know. Elrohir had looked ill all day, even refusing the strawberry pastries at breakfast of which he was so fond. It took little more than that to convince Elrond that something was wrong.

"Was that you coughing just now?" he asked softly, taking in Elrohir's drooping shoulders and bent head. His eyes narrowed as his son shook with the effort it took to restrain yet another bout of coughing.

Elrohir lifted his head with an effort, his face grey. "C-coughing?"

"Elrohir?" Striding forward, Elrond grasped his son's arms and held him still. "Look at me!"

Elrohir swayed. "I am fine, Adar," he mumbled, making no effort to shake his father's hands away.

Elrond loosened his grip and stepped back, appraising Elrohir closely. "Come here, then."

His one support gone, Elrohir wavered unsteadily, and raised his eyes to Elrond's face. His eyes blurred and he sighed as everything whirled, clenching his teeth against the nausea swelling in his throat.

"Adar?" His voice was barely audible, even to Elrond's Elven hearing. "I think... I am going to be sick..."

Even as Elrond strode hastily forward, Elrohir lurched into his arms and fell.

* * *

 **A/N:** I wrote this drabble late at night rather a long time ago, to a very un-sick piece of music: the Tenth Doctor's Theme. How strange. (How like me, actually. I get inspiration from the randomest things. Like a truck. On a highway. Saying "Spring water", etc. etc.)

Anyways, please review since you were so kind as to read! Also I am taking requests for any characters you may want to see, so just drop me a PM if you like. :D

Thanks to Guest for reviewing! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!


	2. Fire

**Drabble Two: Fire**

* * *

It flickered. It burnt.

The darkness parted about the leaping flames, and the deep eyes of the Elf gazed into the depths of the fire, burning embers glowing in the night. Grey shadows like twilight flitted past him, but never did he raise his head, alone in the dusky corners of Námo's halls.

Fire. It had become his one fear, the burning and scorching heat; it had burnt through him, devouring him, and in the end it had overcome.

Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain, had seen fire, fought fire, and in the end, become fire.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know that Ecthelion drowned, he wasn't burnt to death, but he had a ton of experience with fire... so I thought this might be fitting. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Wounds

**Drabble Three: Wounds**

* * *

The door to the healing rooms swung open, and Galadriel ran in, her pale cheeks flushed. Her quick eyes scanned the room, falling upon the bed by the far window, and her mouth parted in a silent sigh. Silver hair fell in a cascade upon the white pillows, but the sparkling green eyes were closed above pallid cheeks, in stark contrast to the scarlet red of the blood trickling from his side onto the sheets.

She reached the bed in a few hasty steps, dropping to her knees by her husband's side and reaching for the hand that the healers were not already holding. At her touch his eyelids fluttered, and the slightest touch of her mind against his finally brought him spiralling back to consciousness.

"Celeborn..." she whispered, eyes searching the jagged tear in his tunic, the blood staining the starched linen sheets, and she stole in a deep breath.

 _Galadriel,_ he pleaded, responding only minimally to her voice. _Please... h_ _elp me..._

She could feel his exhaustion and the weak resistance he mustered against the pain – but all that was not enough. He needed her.

Galadriel's hair cascaded about him like a golden curtain, hiding them from the healers. She bent forward, wrapping her arms closer about his trembling form, and pressed her lips to his.

All else about them faded in that instant. She heard him sigh against her embrace, and she knew he no longer felt the pain.

* * *

 **A/N:** I wanted to thank the guest who reviewed my first drabble - glad you liked it, and my point was that Elrohir had been wounded. :) Sorry, I guess I should have clarified that!


	4. Pet

**Drabble Four: Pet**

* * *

"Aaaaada..."

Elrond exhaled silently, resting his forehead in his hand as Elladan's whining voice floated to his ears from the hall outside his study. He sighed inadvertently, eyes drawn to the stack of scribbled-on papers that sat placidly before him. On the top sheet was white Elladan had earnestly assured him to be a black bear from the Northern Weather Hills. A black bear that he wanted desperately, incidentally. Along with the numerous snakes – many of them poisonous – frogs, snapping turtles, the occasional wolf or fox (he could not remember which), and last but not least, the lion Elladan thought he had heard roaring during the night. Suffice to say Elrond had explained the noises in painfully-clear words to his awestruck eldest – nothing more than Glorfindel emulating a Balrog for Elrohir's convenience.

"Aaada..." The door had opened as he sat lost in thought, and Elrond turned as chubby hands plucked feverishly at his robes. He palmed his face as he noticed the crumpled paper clutched between Elladan's knees.

"What is it, títhen-pen?" he enquired resignedly.

Elladan's eyes were soulful and heartrendingly clear as he gazed pleadingly up at is father. "I want..." he stuttered, "a – a – a – no, _I_ want a – " His voice trailed off and his eyes flitted about the room as he tried to form a coherent sentence – a difficult task for him. " – a cat!" He hit his fists against Elrond's knee and looked earnestly into his father's eyes.

Elrond smiled to himself in relief. Perhaps this was a request he could grant at last.


	5. Run and Run and Run

**Drabble Five: Run and Run and Run**

* * *

The trees flew by her and she stumbled in her haste, clutching her precious bundle close to her breast. Behind her angry voices rang out, feet crackling through the underbrush. Daring a glance back, she glimpsed a glint of red, but she quickly returned her gaze to the path before her – she did not want to risk falling.

"You cannot escape, traitor!" The words were flung at her over the ever-narrowing distance between her and her pursuers.

Then the trees thinned, and Elwing of Sirion came out upon the high cliffs above the sea, drawing the Silmaril glinting from its resting place against her heart. And when Maedhros ran out onto the rocky outcrop, Elwing was not there. But beneath him the waves roared on unceasingly, and the gulls wheeled over him, sending their shrill cries through the dusky sky above.

And caught deep within the waves, the Silmaril shimmered, caught between earth and sky.


	6. Count Down

**Drabble Six: Count Down**

* * *

Three days.

They had been riding for hours, leaving the White City far behind. Their apprehensive eyes searched the horizon, settling on the black-clad Ephel Dúath and then the towering mountain of ashy flame.

They had set out to confront the Dark Lord himself, and the shadows flew over the land.

* * *

Two days.

The Morgul Vale had passed by. Now the Gates loomed far ahead in the distance, rocks forming a defensive shield on either side. Fire and brimstone rose from Orodruin, filling their noses and consciousness.

One more day...


	7. The Lion and the Mouse

**Drabble Seven: The Lion and the Mouse**

* * *

He had trapped them. Ringed in by rank upon rank of Orcs, that so-called Heir of Gondor was doomed. Their banners – green, blue, and black – tossed helplessly in the hard wind, and although the Men stood tall, he could sense the fear in their hearts.

It was not all Men who stood there, though. Two Elves stood together under the swan-banner, dark-haired and identical. The Twins – the ones who had slain his Orcs for years beyond count. Now at last he would have his revenge on them, the Peredhel who had withstood all his attempts to destroy them.

They could not stand.

Trapped between the lion and the cold, unyielding mountains, Aragorn ordered the attack. And deep within his Tower, not foreseeing his own downfall, Sauron laughed.


	8. Count Up

**Drabble Eight: Count Up**

* * *

September the twenty-second dawned clear and bright, and Bilbo lay contentedly in bed. Today was his one hundred and thirtieth birthday – he had passed the Old Took at last! Outside his door he could hear soft murmurings, and once a gentle Elven laugh. Then there were louder footsteps and eager, familiar voices, and the old Hobbit started up from his pillows.

"Frodo?" he whispered, easing his legs over the side of the bed and hobbling hastily to the door. The voice spoke again, very close now, and Bilbo pulled the door open and hurried out into the hall.

"Frodo!"

"Uncle!"

Frodo had changed, Bilbo noticed as he held the younger Hobbit at arms length. His eyes were weary, his face pale – and Bilbo realised with a sudden rush of strange emotions – the chain of the Ring no longer hung about his neck. They had succeeded, then.

"I passed the Old Took today, did you know?" he asked as they sat together on his terrace, watching as Merry and Pippin frolicked in the grass below.

Frodo smiled. "I remembered, Uncle."

"And I am still counting up." Bilbo leaned back with a contended smile. "Sometime I may even beat Lord Elrond himself, if my old heart does not give out before the Sixth Age!"


	9. Finally

**Drabble Nine: Finally**

* * *

Thranduil smiled as Legolas dashed through the trees towards him, his dignity abandoned in his eagerness to greet his father. The King swung down from his horse just as Legolas stopped before him, pulling his son into his arms and holding him tightly.

Thranduil had not seen Legolas in over a year, when he left Mirkwood for Rivendell. Then, when news reached the King of his son's intention to accompany the Fellowship of the Ring, his heart had been torn in half – one half proud of Legolas for his decision, and the other half convinced that he would never return. And when the messenger from the Elves in Ithilien came to invite him to travel to meet his son, the lord of the Elven colony in Ithilien, he had repeatedly found himself convinced it was all a dream.

But this was no dream. His son was finally here with him, and he would not let him go again.

At last Thranduil stepped back and surveyed his son critically. If he noticed that Legolas was a little paler than usual, he did not mention it – he was only relieved to see the merry sparkle in the Prince's azure eyes. Too many Elves he knew had returned from the wars broken with grief, having lost the will to live, but Legolas was smiling. Weary lines about his mouth smoothed into laughing creases as he smiled at his father.

"You look tired," Thranduil observed.

Legolas – being Legolas – ducked his head and shrugged off his father's concern. "It's nothing."

"Oh?" Thranduil still eyed him suspiciously. "Any poisoned wounds or untended lacerations I should know about? I have learned not to trust you in such cases."

"Adar!" Laughing, Legolas hugged him again. "I'm fine, truly, just a little tired. There has been much to do of late."

"Ah, yes, the new settlement of Elves," Thranduil recalled. "Tell me about it."

"I can do better." Legolas took hold of his father's arm and pulled him through the trees. "I can take you to see it, and I will tell you of it as we walk."


	10. Transportation

**Drabble Ten: Transportation**

* * *

For long years Asfaloth had borne him, the wind blowing through his hair, hooves pounding rhythmically on the turf. White mane tossing with his speed, foam-flecked and sweaty after a long day, Asfaloth had always been his one steed and his only means of transportation.

And as he watched the noble horse leap forwards with Frodo swaying atop, he decided he would keep it that way.


	11. Plants

**Drabble Eleven: Plants**

* * *

Sam flashed the torch about desperately, kicking aside weeds and dirt heedlessly with his foot. A ways away he could still see Strider and the glint of the man's torch as he, too, searched for the elusive plant.

Athelas. The one thing that could, for a time, draw Frodo back from the Shadowlands. They had to find it! The Hobbit could still hear Frodo's moans, his laboured breathing...

"I found it!"


	12. Threats

**Drabble Twelve: Threats**

* * *

"Tell me."

Maeglin glared defiantly at the dark figure before him. "I would rather die."

"It may yet come to that."

The Elf willed the fierce trembling in his hands to cease. "I will not betray my people. I am not craven!"

Morgoth smiled – a cruel, calculating smile. "That may be, but I can still break you." The Dark Lord played idly, menacingly, with the handle of his mace. Then he looked up and met Maeglin's eyes clearly. "For I know who holds your heart, son of Eol."

Maeglin took an involuntary step backwards, but swiftly recovered his bold façade. "You lie, snake," he hissed, low and deadly.

Morgoth's gaze did not waver. "She is beautiful, this wife of mortals, is she not? And fiery too. I can see what attracts you to her." He paused, the silence heavy-laden and tense. "I think I would enjoy hearing her scream."

And Maeglin knew he could no longer stand.


	13. Water

**Drabble Thirteen:** **Water**

* * *

The waves rushed past him, the wind catching his lament and twisting it, melding it with the song of the sea. The sun was setting in the greying sky, lighting the waters that roared unceasingly, tormented his ears, taunting him.

He had stood here for so long, begging the Valar for mercy, praying a white sail would fill the sky, bringing a ship to take him home... but they had not heeded him. They had not listened and they had not come, and Maglor, outcast of Valinor, stood alone upon the shores of Middle-earth, the lament of his voice lost in the crashing of the waves.


	14. Wind

**Drabble Fourteen: Wind**

* * *

The wind caught in the sails of the ship, urging it forward faster. Celebrian sighed as he stood at the railing, her mind filled with the faces of her children and husband. She had left them. The wind and the water had taken her, stolen her from them and them from her. A tear glittered in her eye and trickled, unheeded, down her cheek.

It had taken her away, but one day it would reunite them. Then they would stand together, the wind in their hair and the sea at their backs.

Soon, Elrond had said.

But it would never be soon enough.


	15. Hobby

**Drabble Fifteen: Hobby**

* * *

"Erestor, _please_."

The advisor sighed, looking up at his lord resignedly.

"Please, stop fidgeting. Find some paperwork, go train with the twins, anything, but stay still, I beg you!"

"I apologise, Elrond," he said at last. "None of those suggestions can truly be called options, though. I cannot seem to find something worthwhile to do."

Elrond dropped his head back as Erestor's fingers began their nervous tapping once more. "You need a hobby, my friend," he sighed.

He did not see Erestor's eyes light up.


	16. Tradition

**Drabble Sixteen: Tradition**

* * *

Finrod stepped proudly forwards, keeping his shoulders squared and stiff beneath the scrutinising gaze of the court. He dared not glance to the side to catch a glimpse of his Amarië, but he smiled at his sister Artanis as she moved in front of him.

"Finrod, lord of Sirion, founder of Minas Tirith and Nargothrond, captain of Finarfin's forces, do you accept the task we set upon you?"

"I do accept it," he said clearly, and his gaze dropped to her slender hand as she raised it. Clenched in her fingers was a sparkling ring. Two tiny serpents reared their heads from a crown of golden flowers, one devouring, the other peacefully supporting the flowers.

All was silent for a brief moment. Then Artanis spoke again. "It is tradition that you bear this ring, Felagund. Will you take it?"

Again Finrod answered. "I will."

One smile she flashed to him, her eldest brother. Then she stepped forward and lifted his left hand in her own, sliding the heavy ring onto his finger.

"Hereafter you may bear it as a token of your rank, lord," she said softly. "And may good fortune be upon you, in all your dealings in Middle-earth."


	17. Earth

**Drabble Seventeen: Earth**

* * *

"Land is ahead!"

The cry tore Angrod from his sleep, and he ran to the ship's deck. The host of Fingolfin stood mingled about him, eagerly staring into the shadows of early daylight, and he swiftly followed their gazes.

The mists fell back from the leaf-clad trees, the waves rising up and foaming on the shores. No sound broke the silence but for the faint call of an eagle soaring through the snow-tipped mountains stabbing through the sky.

Middle-earth. Land of mortals and Morgoth. Where his brother had dwelt for long years, and where he, too, would make his home.

This earth he approached, he would tame, he would fight – and it would claim him in the end.


	18. Grief

**Drabble Eighteen: Grief**

* * *

Aragorn came to Taur-nu-Fuin at the time of the Midsummer's Day Feast. But the forest was dark, and there was no song on the lips of the Elves who silently led him to Thranduil's halls, and their faces, usually so full of expression, were muted and their eyes dim. Legolas met him at the gate, but although he smiled, Aragorn could see that it was forced, and it did not reach his eyes.

"Aragorn!" The Prince stepped forward to meet him, although his steps lacked his usual enthusiasm. "I did not know you were coming!"

Aragorn smiled through his confusion. "It is often said that a Ranger travels unnoticed and arrives unexpected, is it not? In fact, you have cited it to me more than once. I am here now, in any case."

"Aye," Legolas responded quietly. "I will take you to my father."

Aragorn did not get a chance to ask Legolas about the dejection of the Wood-Elves until after the evening meal. Thranduil greeted him with his customary smile, but, as Legolas's, it was not real. They ate in relative silence, Aragorn growing more and more ill-at-ease with every passing moment. Legolas appeared about to speak several times, but he checked himself every time. It was unlike him, Aragorn mused; something must be seriously wrong if he has become so withdrawn.

After taking Aragorn to his room Legolas turned swiftly to depart, but Aragorn caught his sleeve and restrained him.

"What has happened, _mellon-nín_?" he asked. "Do not try to tell me it is nothing, for you have never been this way before. Perhaps I can help you?"

Legolas laughed bitterly. "Help me? Nay, Aragorn, mortals cannot aid me – and not even the immortals. The Valar alone can return what I have lost."

He jerked his arm free from Aragorn's grasp and strode away, but he turned back for a moment and met the Ranger's eyes, his own glinting with tears. "Ask my father. He will tell you."


	19. Breaking the Habit

**Drabble Twenty: Breaking the Habit**

* * *

He snuck down the hallway like a criminal, never straying out of the shadows as he made for the closed doors ahead of him. He threw a hasty glance behind him, and then dashed forward, pulling cautiously on the door handle. It creaked. Loudly.

A few footsteps went by, and he heard someone calling his name. He shivered, retreating into the corner until the voice had faded into echoes, and then slipped out the door. A few twisting turns took him deep into the gardens, and at last he sat down on a bench hidden in the groves, relaxing with a sigh of relief.

Grey eyes flitting about nervously, his fingers crept slowly towards his pocket. They closed about the slender stem, and he glanced heavenwards, half-expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down.

What came next was almost as bad.

"Aragorn!"

He jumped to his feet with a yelp of surprise, shoving his pipe back into his pocket. Arwen stood there before him, hands on her hips, her lovely face accusing.

"Meleth-nín..." he stuttered in embarrassment, retreating slowly towards the pathway. Arwen followed steadily, her hand extended.

"What have you there, husband?" Her voice was syrupy-sweet, and Aragorn cringed.

"Nothing much..."

"I am intrigued."

He gave in with a sigh, pulling the pipe from his pocket and placing it regretfully in her waiting hand. "I suppose you will do away with it?" _Namárië, old friend._

Arwen's smile widened. "This is so good for you, Estel. Breaking a habit is never easy, but it is so very beneficial..."

Aragorn ignored her as he slunk back towards the palace, more interested now in concealing his backup pipe as soon as possible.


	20. Balance

**Drabble Twenty-One: Balance**

* * *

Elrohir let out a sigh as he slowly returned to consciousness, roused mainly by his uncomfortable position. He was lying on his front, face pressed into the pillow, and he received the general impression that someone was sitting on his back.

He looked around, realising with a jolt that he was in the healing rooms. But why? He knew he must have been hurt, but being immobilised, as good as tied to a bed, and so much as knowing how he was injured upset him.

Sliding his legs off the edge of the bed, Elrohir eased himself into a sitting position and then stood carefully up. He lurched backwards as his surroundings spun crazily, and he fell back onto the bed with a gasp.

As the world about him slowly returned to normal, Elrohir tried again. This time he was prepared, stumbling over to the bureau and clinging to its edge until everything had stopped whirling. Then he took a deep breath and turned to the door.

 _I will get there. I will!_

He took one step, then another, and a smirk crept over his face.

 _Ha, walking is so easy! All it takes is a bit of perseverance and..._

He swayed precariously, falling heavily against the door.

 _... balance..._


	21. Down the River

**Drabble Twenty-Two: Down the River**

* * *

"Ada?"

Maglor smiled at the little elfling beside him. "What is it, Elros?"

The young Peredhel snuggled up against the older Elf's side. "Why does Uncle Ros go down the river all the time?"

The Fëanorion's grey eyes narrowed as he subsided into thought, leaning back against the tree with one strong arm about the elder twin's shoulders. Maedhros had disappeared early that morning, as was his wont, to the river, and he had caught the twins watching as his older brother pushed his boat into the current and leaped in. Maedhros had done this every day for as long as he could remember. In some way the river seemed to bring him comfort and peace, especially since Sirion.

"That is a difficult question, little one," he started hesitantly. "Your uncle has always loved the sea, and now that he has been taken from it, perhaps he goes down the river to get as close as he can... I cannot say for certain."

Elros seemed to think about this for sometime, playing with the fastenings on Maglor's tunic. Then he announced, with all the intelligence of the very young, "I think he is lonely."

"That may well be," Maglor replied, surprised at the child's perception. "You could tell him you are his friend – perhaps that would help."

Elros considered for a moment. "If I did, would he not leave for the river?"

Maglor sighed a little. "I think not, little one. Perhaps for a time he will stay. But the sea is in his blood, and since he cannot have that, the river brings him comfort that we cannot."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boat draw up in the reeds and his brother leap nimbly out.


	22. The Nature of Evil

**Drabble Twenty-Three: The Nature of Evil**

 **Morgoth's POV**

* * *

They say I am a traitor. Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do. They call me a turncoat. A betrayer.

I do not know. I did what I had to do, no more and no less.

But sometimes I feel more like a slave than a ruler. A slave to my hatred, my desire for power. I have these things, but always I want more. I am no longer master over my own desires.

Such is the nature of evil – to have supreme power, but always to desire more. And sometime it will take you over entirely.


	23. Ship

**Drabble Twenty-Four: Ship**

* * *

She had seen the last one pass.

She had called for them to wait. She had begged. She had wept. But she was only Half-Elven after all, and not granted a choice as were the Peredhil.

Gilmith, daughter of Mithrellas, stood upon the sands, and the sun was setting. The last ship had sailed. They were all gone now.

She turned one last time, gazing deep into the woods that had sheltered her for so many years. "Farewell," she whispered. Then she gathered her dress about her and leaped into the sea, and the waves billowed and swept over her.


	24. Clouds

**Drabble Twenty-Five: Clouds**

* * *

"Tuor!" Idril protested with a breathless giggle. "Put me down! You will drop me!" She clung to her husband's neck, laughing helplessly as he lowered her carefully.

They stood alone upon the walls of Gondolin in the midst of the setting sun. A clear voice rose up to the stars in the twilight, and a shiver ran up her spine as she leaned on Tuor's shoulder and listened. Her husband's eyes were bright and loving as he gazed down at her, and he smiled as her hand slipped into his.

"Tuor?" Her tone changed suddenly, and she pointed into the sky with a troubled look on her face. "I wonder what those are?"

He frowned and followed her gaze. In the sky black clouds had gathered over the mountains, and swept towards them with alarming swiftness.

"Tis naught but a storm," he murmured in response, but his eyes did not leave the sky.


	25. Betrayal

**Drabble Twenty-Six: Betrayal**

* * *

The clouds fled before the flames, the earth shaking beneath the heavy tread of the Balrogs. Standing high upon the walls of the white city, Maeglin shivered, barely hearing the shouts and screams behind him.

He now saw Morgoth's bluff.

Light footsteps sounded behind him; he turned, hand on the hilt of his sword, and came face to face with Tuor's wife. The colour started to his cheeks, and he took an involuntary step backwards. But then the proud light of Aredhel returned to his eyes; he drew himself up and inclined his head.

"Lady?"

Idril's eyes flashed. " _Maeglin_ ," she hissed.

He flinched at the accusation in her tone, but through his overwhelming guilt struggled to keep his calm. "Have you something to say?" His voice trembled. He hated himself.

She laughed, a bitter sound ringing in the dimming light. "Only this, Maeglin, son of Dark Elves. You are a traitor, a betrayer – no better than Morgoth himself."


	26. What Happens Now?

**Drabble Twenty-Seven: What Happens Now?**

* * *

The gardens were quiet, the overhanging trees swaying in the gentle breezes. The moon's light was quenched behind grey clouds, and dusk and stars had fallen over Imladris. A slender figure stood alone in the shadow of the trees, facing out over the valley, clad in grey raiment, dark hair flowing down over his shoulders.

The stars were veiled; even so was his path. His sister sat long in her chambers, working with her maidens on a banner, black as the raven's wing. Her choice was to bring hope to Men, though it meant her long life would come to an end in a last twilight, alone in her grief. His brother, his twin, would not speak about his choice, though their fates were tied as close as they had been at birth.

Elrohir turned; he sighed. A gentle wind stirred his hair, and he raised his face to the night sky. The clouds fled before the darkness; as if in a dream he saw flames flickering on the horizon, and he felt the winter's cold.

"Brother?" A slight figure slipped up behind him, coming to stand at his side. Taller than most Elves, shoulders broader than Elven wont due to their mortal heritage, the twins stood silently in the dusk. The silence of night whispered about them, flowing through their veins, and Elrohir turned at last to his brother, leaning lightly on Elladan's shoulder.

"What happens now?" His voice was muffled by his brother's cloak, and Elladan's steel-grey eyes softened as he gazed down at his twin.

"Arwen is determined to ride out with the Rangers to Rohan," Elladan whispered, his voice echoing through the night. At this Elrohir raised his head, the slightest hint of a smile playing about his mouth.

"We cannot allow that, El. An elleth, alone amongst crude men? Adar would never forgive us."

"We have but one choice, then," Elladan replied, bringing his arm about Elrohir and leaning his head against his twin's. "We must ride out with them. To Estel."


	27. Anatomy

**Drabble Twenty-Eight: Anatomy**

* * *

The sword dropped from his numbed fingers, clattering on the hard rock, and he was only just in time to catch the other Elf as he fell limply into his arms. Bile rose in his throat, but he fought it down desperately as he focused all his attention on the unconscious Elf upon the rocks.

"Maedhros," he whispered, softly at first, but then as his cousin did not reply, "Maedhros! Answer me!"

The red-haired Elf did not so much as stir, his noble face grey and drawn from many years of unceasing torment at Morgoth's hands, and Fingon reached for his left wrist, desperately rubbing circulation back into the bloodless arm. At this, Maedhros flinched, but Fingon only paused to shift his cousin's position against him.

Maedhros had but one hand now, but that was nothing compared to what he could have lost.


	28. Death

**Death**

 **A/N: This is a follow-up for my previous drabble Grief; it will make more sense if you read that first.**

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Thranduil looked up, startled. He was almost never disturbed after he returned to his rooms at dusk – and certainly not on this day. The only Elf who dared to interrupt him at his work was his son, and this visitor was not Legolas, for he would have sensed his son's presence long before he could have reached the room.

"Enter," he called, rising curiously to his feet. He raised an eyebrow as the door opened and Aragorn stepped slowly in, closing the door behind him. "Do you need something, Estel?"

The silence continued as Aragorn stared at his feet, uncertain of what he should say. The darkness hung heavily over the forest beyond the windows, the canopy of trees hiding the stars from sight. He could feel the Elvenking's eyes on him, burning into his soul, seeking to read the thoughts he kept so deeply hidden.

"Estel." A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to find Thranduil standing before him. "Are you all right?"

He nodded numbly, but as Thranduil appeared about to accept this, he took his opportunity. "It is your son I am worried about, my lord."

"Legolas?" Something new crept into the tall Elf's eyes. "You have not seen him like this before, have you?"

Aragorn shook his head eagerly. "It is not something new, then?"

Without answering the Ranger's question, Thranduil realised something. "But you have never been here on the day of the Midsummer Feast, either."

It was not a question, and Aragorn did not respond. Thranduil stood in silence for a moment, and then turned and walked slowly to the window, looking out silently. Aragorn watched him, puzzled, until at last the King swung around.

"Did you not ever hear the tale of Legolas's mother? Of how she returned with him on the day of the Midsummer's Feast?"

"No," Aragorn answered, questioning but wary at the same time. All of a sudden, he realised that Thranduil's eyes were exactly the same as Legolas's – and the grief that lay in them was no exception.

There was a pause. Tension hung thickly in the air, and Aragorn had begun to back towards the door, when the King's voice arrested him.

"She was dead, Estel."


	29. Painting

**Drabble Thirty: Painting**

* * *

Elrond strayed alone through the halls, moonlight streaming in through the open windows, the breeze whispering through his raven hair. He knew not where he was going. His wanderings had taken him to his sons' rooms, and he had stood gazing down upon their peaceful faces, assuring himself that they were well. His daughter's graceful presence no longer filled the valley, for she had travelled far across the mountains, to the home of her grandparents. She was safe within the borders of Lórien; and yet he could not rest.

A dim light caught Elrond's eye, and he turned in surprise. A candle sat flickering upon a low table in the darkness, casting a shadowy glow upon the mural that covered the wall, and at the mere sight, his grey eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh escaped his lips. He could see it all.

A bright sword, glinting in the shards of light that flowed from the stormy sky; bodies lying stricken on the muddy battlefield, and one figure, fallen but defiant, and the light of Elendil in his eyes. The banner of the Tree flying wildly in the moaning wind, encompassed in flames before at last it fell, the blue and silver fabric sparking into fire. And Sauron, deceiver, Dark Lord and Maia, wreathed in smoke and cloud, his mighty mace raised to kill.

Elrond did not need a painting to remind him of what he had seen so long ago.


	30. Anyone of Us

**Drabble Thirty-One: Anyone of Us**

* * *

He stood, numbed with grief and disbelief, as arrows skipped off the rock about him. He barely heard a familiar voice calling his name; only returned to reality when a strong arm slipped about him and pulled him forcefully towards the light.

The sun met his eyes as an almost painful burst of brightness, and he tried to stop, to adjust to the sudden light, but the arm dragged him onwards, and through a haze he recognised the green tunic and blond hair.

He moved his lips slowly, stupidly.

"Legolas..."

The Elf stopped pulling, turning to face him, and eyes full of grief as his own, met his.

"He's... gone..."

"It could have been anyone of us." Legolas's voice was not entirely steady. "We must keep going, Aragorn."

 _Keep going... keep going..._

 _It is not my fault..._

 _Anyone of us._


	31. A Language Lesson

**Drabble 32: A Language Lesson**

* * *

"But Glorfy, it does not make _sense_!"

A light sigh escaped Glorfindel's lips in lieu of a groan. Because at the venerable age of six, sense truly does matter to an elfling.

"It does, if only you look at it a certain way," he began despairingly, only to be interrupted again.

"But what if I cannot find the right way? What then?" A sly smile snuck over the young Elf's face. "What if I do not _want_ to find the right way?"

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Do you really want me to tell your Adar that, Elrohir?"

The younger twin pouted. "I hate Quenya," he muttered under his breath. "It is toopid."

* * *

 **Translations:**

Toopid: Stupid, at least as I used to say it.


	32. Murderer

**Drabble 33: Murderer**

* * *

He gazed down at the stain growing on the grass first, numb and horrified. Blood. It was blood – his blood, and he watched, nearly hyptnotised, as it dripped past the dark iron sword embedded deeply in his chest.

One word – one thought...

 _Elenna. Elenna. Elenna._

And then it slipped out of his mouth, only it was not the name of his love – it was the name of the Elf before him, and his face twisted in contempt.

"Maedhros."

He did not plead. He would not plead.

"Murderer," he gasped. "Curse you. C-curse you..."

Screams rose from the streets about him, from smoking Sirion, and a faraway voice cried his name over and over, but he could not call his wife's face to mind. He saw only red hair, flaming in the dusk, and glittering eyes and white, sharp teeth glinting in a feral sneer.

Everything whirled about him, lights flashing before his eyes, the pain distant and surreal, and one last word escaped him.

"Mur-d-der-er."

And he fell.


	33. Mixed Feelings

**Drabble 34: Mixed Feelings**

* * *

"Ladan, are you sure we should?"

Elladan grinned down at his sister, tightening his grip on the trusting hand she had given him. "Certainly! Whyever should we not? There is nothing wrong with rock climbing. I have done it before, and you have not, so I am rather the authority here."

"But..." Her chubby legs struggled to keep up with her brother's lengthy strides. "It is _night_ , El. I am supposed to be in bed listening to Ada sing."

Elladan stopped and considered. "True. But you hear Adar sing every night, _muinthel._ It would be a pleasant change to do some mountain climbing on the cliffs here and then come back to bed."

Arwen paused, lifting her arms to be carried, and fiddled with the quiver strap across Elladan's chest as she tried to think of something else to object to. "Will he be angry?"

"Certainly not. He would be glad you are broadening your horizons."

Whatever broadening one's horizons was supposed to mean, it sounded important, and Arwen visibly wilted. "He would... he would be _proud_?" she whispered in awe, gazing hopefully into Elladan's convincing eyes.

"Oh, definitely," Elladan lied, with a few qualms.

"He would be happy?" Arwen was not quite sure.

"Oh, definitely."

Her mixed feelings disappeared. "I suppose I will come then. As long as I will not be in trouble."

Elladan hesitated. His pause was fatal.

" _Adar!"_


	34. Letters

**Drabble 35: Letters**

* * *

 _Dear Elrohir,_

 _I missed talking to you at dinner last night. It did not seem quite right, that Elladan was there and you were not. He looked so worried, Elrohir. I do not think he would have left your side had your adar not ordered him to._

 _Quite a few things have happened that you will not know of, dear friend. I heard Elcúron telling Elenya some rather intimate things out in the garden last night, and Glorfindel recited The Warrior in the Hall. He dedicated it to you, you know. I think he is very worried about you, Elrohir. I know I am._

 _Elrohir, I do wish you would wake up. Your adar looks more and more worried each time I see him, and he will not let me in to see you. I noticed that he has left the window open for the last few nights, though – perhaps I shall sneak in some evening._

 _Naneth is calling me. I think I should go._

 _Sweet dreams, Elrohir. Wake soon._

 _Calassë_

* * *

 **A/N: This is my favourite drabble so far... xD**


	35. First Word

**Drabble 36: First Word**

* * *

He had not spoken a word since Sirion.

He had accepted their food, their blankets, and even occasionally their comfort.

But he had not spoken. Not a word.

Maglor sighed as he watched the youngest Peredhil out of the corner of his eye. The elfling lay curled on his side in the corner of the cave, arms drawn tightly about himself. Was he crying? Maglor could not tell. Elros hovered over him, chattering away in a soft voice, but Elrond did not move.

Maedhros stepped up behind him, leaning against a wall, and as Maglor glanced up at him, he saw that his eldest brother's eyes were fixed upon the twins as well. For once there was more than contempt in his eyes. Pity, perhaps, and sorrow, but not disdain. Maybe he saw in the Peredhil his own youngest brothers, torn apart from their family by war and senseless slaying.

Perhaps he regretted Sirion, Maglor dared to think, but then Elrond stirred, and a choked sob escaped the little body. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, hurrying over to the elfling, ignoring Elros as he patted consolingly at his younger brother. Strong arms, gentle and comforting, wrapped around the Peredhel and lifted him, and he rested Elrond's dark head against his shoulder and hugged him tightly, and tried not to think about his own brothers as Elrond sobbed out one word against him.

"Ammë..."


	36. A Simple Delight

**Drabble 37: A Simple Delight**

* * *

"I think he _uses_ grease," Elrohir said casually, rubbing firmly between his brother's shoulders. Elladan grinned and leaned forward a little, encouraging Elrohir.

"I saw the label. I even smelled it," he countered.

Elrond sighed from across the room, hand stealing to his hair despite himself. It was not greasy! He had washed it only the night before! He felt Elrohir's smirk from the bed, and turned to them with a vial balanced on his palm.

"You may not find it in your best interests to tease me, ionnath-nin," he warned, crossing towards the bed – and consequently, the twins. "I am, after all, the one who decides which medicines you take, and how long you are abed."

"You forget, Adar, that I am not injured," Elrohir said cautiously. "I can still run."

"But you will not abandon your twin, will you?"

Elrohir was forced to concede as he beheld his brother's injured gaze. "True. But I am stronger than you. Do not dispute that – I do not want to hurt you."

"How touching." Elrond poured out a measure of glittering liquid into a glass and handed it to his eldest son. "Drink."

Elladan drank, gingerly, and listened with vague amusement to his father and brother. Ah, the simple delights of life, he mused piously.

A scream interrupted his earnest pondering, and he looked up just as Elrohir fell backward onto the bed, Elrond atop him, fingers dancing at his son's sides. He jerked away just in time to avoid a mouthful of elbow and several more shrieks, and lifted his eyes fervently to the skies. "How immature," he murmured to himself.

"Pardon me?"

Elladan's eyes shot open as Elrohir slunk under his arm for protection, eyeing his father warily.

"Oh. Adar."

"You said something, I believe?" Elrond was advancing slowly. Elladan looked from his father to his brother, and promptly pulled Elrohir on top of himself. "Nooo," he wailed into his brother's shoulder. "Nothing! I swear!"

Elrond pounced.

* * *

 **A/N: This one is for DragonLover, who requested pretty much this entire drabble in her lovely review. Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy this. ;)**


	37. Cold

**Drabble 38: Cold**

* * *

"Elladan?"

Elladan lifted his head briefly in acknowledgment of his twin as he sat before the fireplace.

"I am cold."

He smiled gently at Elrohir, stoking up the dying flames. "You will not be for long."

"I would prefer not to be at all," the younger twin said childishly, huddling into the pillows. He watched through tired eyes as Elladan rose to his feet, the renewed fire flickering on the shadows of the wall behind him.

"Can you feel the warmth now?" Elladan asked gently, sitting by the bed and tucking the blankets higher about his brother. Elrohir nodded, eyes drooping as the subtle warmth stole over him. His brother's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and he turned a little, easing the lingering pain in his leg.

Elladan bent and pressed his lips to Elrohir's forehead, smiling as his twin drifted into a light doze. "Sleep then, brother," he whispered softly. "I will be here when you wake."


	38. From Afar

**Drabble 38: From Afar**

* * *

He watched from afar, through grey clouds of smoking ash. Through the depths of the stone-hills his eyes pierced, and dragon-breath flamed, and Dwarves fled, and wildlings marched over the land. Still he watched, and still the darkness spread.

But two things he did not see.

Two Halflings travelling under stone and tree, through great caverns and flame, and at last a tunnel that twisted and wound, and brought them out at last before the mountain of fire itself.

He watched from afar, through grey clouds of smoking ash, but his doom he never saw.


End file.
